


Wings of Love

by mysterixn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Guardian Angel AU, Guns, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7428658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterixn/pseuds/mysterixn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo is assigned to be Jesse McCree's guardian angel. What he expects and what he gets are very different things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wings of Love

Hanzo looked down at his sensor and sighed. The idiot he was supposed to be guarding was, supposedly, in trouble. Yet again.

_This is the third time this week. Can't this man keep out of trouble for once?_

Hanzo stretched out his wings, fluttering them slightly. They looked more like dragon wings, with thin, bluish membrane webbed between a dark blue, bat-like wing structure. The edges had feathers, though, lined with silver and more teal in color. The feathers also appeared on each spindly limb of the wings, smaller and more green in color, and at the junction of the wings and Hanzo’s back. Hanzo’s wings were special things, and Hanzo loved to spend time looking at them. It turned out, though, that unease was the majority of people’s reactions to them, being deterred by the seemingly horrific combination of dragon and angel wings. Yet there was a small percentage of people who were fascinated by them.

And Jesse McCree happened to fall into that category.

Hanzo had been assigned to the man a few months back, and while he hadn’t expected much, he _certainly_ hadn’t expected… whatever McCree was. A man who dressed like a cowboy and ran around doing odd jobs that put his life in danger with no real thought of his own safety? He sounded like the kind of person Hanzo would love to avoid at all costs. And yet he was stuck with the man.

And so, Hanzo had dutifully arrived when McCree had first shown signs of distress, and McCree, clearly not expecting anyone to appear out of thin air right next to him, had immediately held up his revolver. His _revolver_. How old was this guy, 50? Hanzo had rolled his eyes and explained how he was a guardian angel, assigned to watch over him until the day he was fated to die and keep him alive until then. McCree had listened with a look of feigned interest, then immediately gestured to Hanzo’s wings. More importantly, his one wing.

“Why d’ya only keep one out?”

Hanzo had never been asked that before. Most people ignored his wings out of fear or disinterest, yet it seemed this man was a different case entirely. “They are pretty cumbersome, so I would usually hide them both, but I like showing this one off.” Hanzo had flashed him a grin that was full of sharp, pointed teeth. Being a guardian angel didn't always include sunshine and rainbows.

McCree had nodded -- clearly that made sense to him. Yet he had managed to shock Hanzo yet again when he asked, “Can I take a look at that wing o’ yers, then?”

Hanzo had never been asked _that_ before either. No one -- and he meant no one -- had ever been curious enough to ask to touch his wing. Cautiously, Hanzo had extended his wing to its full length, fully taking up half the room in the process.

McCree’s eyes widened slightly, supposedly at the sheer size of it, before he went to touch it. He extended a metal arm first ( _Huh, I wonder how he lost his arm?_ Hanzo thought) before thinking better of it; metal arms tend to not be able to feel things. McCree delicately stroked a feather, and Hanzo wanted to recoil from the touch. No one else had touched his wing in so long, he had forgotten the feeling. But he held still, allowing McCree’s hand to wander over the web of membrane, save for a slight flutter of his wing that he couldn’t help.

McCree had let out a low whistle. “Damn, darlin’, this is a work of art. Ya think o’ this yerself?”

Hanzo had nodded, blushing slightly at the praise. He was entirely proud of his wings, and yet didn’t get enough positive comments on them to warrant satisfaction.

 _Hopefully,_ he thought, _this McCree will continue to find interest in my wings for quite a while._

Luckily for Hanzo, McCree had been endlessly fascinated by them, even going so far as to reach out and touch one while in the middle of a fight. Hanzo had scolded him, which McCree had endured with a smirk and a muttered, “Well yer the one who’s s’possed to be savin’ me.” Hanzo had stifled a groan. This man was _insufferable_. Hanzo didn’t know how he was going to be able to put up with him until he finally died. Which, glancing down at the gadget headquarters gave him, was more or less 2 years.

Wow. That was pretty short. Guess they were just going to let him die on one of these missions one day and have that be the end of it.

Yet in the meantime, Hanzo still had to save him. Every time. Which brought him back to his current objective, somewhere in London named “Kings Row.” Hanzo gracefully landed and folded one of his wings back under his yukata -- he had still kept the style from when he was alive. It did make it easy to expose one wing, though. He liked that part of it.

He scanned around for where McCree was, eventually finding him hiding behind a piece of wall. The other half was blown off, and when Hanzo approached, it seemed like McCree had been caught in the explosion.

Rubble littered McCree’s chest and arms, some of it clearly lodged in because of the blast, and he was steadily bleeding from a gun wound to the side. Hanzo _tsked_ and lifted McCree off the ground carefully, accidentally jostling him enough that McCree let out a groan of pain. Hanzo made to fly off, but McCree stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Wait,” he croaked out. “I lost ma hat back there.” Hanzo rolled his eyes, but bent down and dug through some of the rubble to find McCree’s (supposedly) special hat. McCree attempted a grin, but it turned into mostly a grimace as Hanzo handed him his hat and flapped his wings, soaring into the air. The initial jolt of taking off was never painless, especially with wounds like McCree’s, and Hanzo winced for McCree, since it seemed like he had fallen mostly unconscious. _Good. I don’t have to put up with his talking the whole trip._

Hanzo took him to HQ, in Hanamura, Japan. The company that had helped him become (more accurately, turned him into) a guardian angel was called Overwatch. So far they had recruited 15 members, though he had heard they were looking for more. They had given him a chance for redemption after killing his brother, and he was eternally grateful for that. He may never be able to fully atone for his past deeds, but he could honor his brother.

Hanzo laid him down on one of the beds in the medical center, and heard McCree stir. Hanzo ignored the noise and placed both of his hands on McCree's chest, feeling the rise and fall that meant the man was still alive. Hanzo tilted his head back and spread out his wings. _Dragon gods, grant me the strength to heal this man,_ he thought, and felt the magic of the dragons flow through his arms. Blue light emanated from his hands, flooding into McCree’s still form and glowing brightly over the wounded areas before fixing them. Hanzo watched skin knit back together, watched pieces of rubble disintegrate and fade away to allow the skin beneath it to heal. Only when it appeared that McCree was back at full health did Hanzo release the magic, taking his hands away and letting the blue light dim, then disappear. McCree was asleep now, and wound-free, yet Hanzo kept a scar or two every time he healed McCree. He figured the man wouldn't want all his hard work to be remembered with nothing but memories. This time, the scar he had left was on his left side, right where the bullet had hit.

Hanzo re-folded his wings, keeping one untucked as usual, and went about covering McCree with one of the blankets next to the bed. It was, oddly, patterned with cartoon horses, and he wondered which member had anticipated McCree being here. Probably Angela.

Hanzo sighed. He'd take McCree back to… well, wherever he wanted when he woke up. A guardian angel was assigned mainly to help heal the person they were assigned to, yet they were also allowed to transport them when needed, among other things. Hanzo was about to exit the room when he heard a half-awake McCree speak.

“Thanks, darlin’.”

Oh yea. There was that, too.

Ever since McCree had gotten comfortable around his guardian angel, he had started using pet names, and while Hanzo didn’t know if this was a regular thing for him to do, it surely put him off-balance. He was very unused to people using any sort of endearing term to describe him -- had long since shrugged off the notion that _anyone_ would -- and McCree’s use of them was… disconcerting, to say the least.

Yet even though Hanzo had told him, repeatedly, politely, to just use “Hanzo,” McCree had stubbornly continued his use of pet names. The list expanded into more than just “darling” (sweetcheeks had to be his least favorite of them all), and left Hanzo increasingly exasperated, up to the point where he gave up entirely on convincing McCree to stop.

And so, McCree continued to use the names at every opportunity. “Pumpkin” when Hanzo did something particularly endearing (how _that_ was a thing, Hanzo had no idea), “cupcake” in the middle of battle, and “darlin’” when he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

So instead of replying to the name, Hanzo fluttered his wing slightly and walked out, which made McCree sleepily chuckle.

 

* * *

 

The next few times Hanzo was called to McCree's side, which happened throughout the next year, the man had barely any scrapes. The fourth time it happened, near November and this time on Route 66, Hanzo asked McCree why.

“Well, I can only call ya when I get hurt, right?”

Despite nodding an affirmative, Hanzo didn't know where McCree was going with this. Unless…

“So I had to get hurt somehow to get ya out here,” McCree finished.

Hanzo was right. “So… you're saying that you intentionally got into a fight just so that I would come see you?”

McCree looked a bit sheepish, but nodded anyway. Hanzo stifled a groan.

It wasn't uncommon for people to become infatuated with their guardian angel -- it was a novel concept, after all. But the glint in McCree’s eyes, the way he held himself and joked around Hanzo… it was probably more than infatuation in his case.

Which happened to be forbidden.

Even _if_ Hanzo were at all attracted to this man -- and he sure wasn't -- there would be no way for anything to happen between them. Law upon law had been made to protect this from happening, and neither of them would get out safely if it did.

Hanzo took a deep breath and started to say as much, but McCree held up a hand to stop him. “Before ya go explainin’ that it's illegal and whatnot --” How did he know that that was what Hanzo was thinking? -- “I’m gonna ask ya somethin’.” Hanzo raised an eyebrow, but let him continue. “Have ya ever been in love before?”

_Oh._

“No.”

This time, McCree raised an eyebrow. “Really? Not even in yer past life?”

Hanzo suppressed a wince at the mention of that, but shook his head. “Never.”

McCree scratched his beard, something Hanzo noticed he did when thinking. “Well, darlin’, that's a damn shame. Yer really missin’ out on some good stuff.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. He didn't believe that love was the best feeling ever, that it overwhelmed you and consumed you to the point of breaking. Maybe it was because he'd never been in love, but it sounded stupid.

“I'm sure I am,” Hanzo said blandly.

“You are! Trust me. The minute ya fall in love, yer gonna believe me.”

“Well, then it’s a shame that I cannot fall in love.”

“Unless it’s with another person like yerself,” McCree pointed out. How did he know that? Hanzo would ask him later.

“That is true, yes.”

“So,” McCree said, winking. “Anyone special?”

“I already told you, no.”

“Yeesh, I wasn’t asking ya that. I was just wonderin’ if there was anybody ya had yer eyes on.”

“Why are you asking me?”

McCree shifted on his feet before he spoke. “Well… I want’cha to be happy. Yer takin’ up so much time lookin’ out for ol’ me that I’m not sure yer havin’ fun elsewhere. Ya don’t have t’ only focus on redemption.” Before Hanzo could get a word out, McCree continued. “I heard about yer… mishap. With yer brother. I’m sorry.”

Hanzo was stunned. “H-how?”

“I was in the med center one of those times, an’ I heard two girls talkin’ ‘bout it. They said it was a shame that you’d been put through somethin’ like that.”

That sounded suspiciously like Angela, which meant that the other girl with her had to be Fareeha. The two doted on each other night and day, and while it was cute to watch, Hanzo would rather be with someone himself instead of watching them.

It wasn’t like Hanzo didn’t _want_ a date, or a significant other, or whatever term the other person wanted to use. He just hadn’t found someone to care about enough. He also knew he wasn’t the easiest person to deal with, which made it a bit harder.

Hanzo sighed. He was done with this conversation. “Well, at least you know about my past. Maybe _that_ will change your mind about me.” McCree started to speak, but Hanzo shushed him. “I won’t heal those small scrapes. You can live with them. Would you like me to take you somewhere else?”

McCree seemed disgruntled at the conversation change, but waved off the question. “Nah, I’ll stay here. This was one’a my old haunts. I gotta catch up with it.” Hanzo nodded, turning and spreading his wings, getting ready to take off. “Wait,” McCree said quickly, then looked down when Hanzo twisted his head to look at him.

“Yes?”

“I… I won’t call ya for somethin’ trivial again, if ya don’t want me to.” Hanzo frowned at the look on McCree’s face. It was sad and disappointed, something that looked off on a face that was so usually cheerful and smiling. Hanzo debated if he should relent or not, then gave in.

“It is… fine if you call me a few more times for smaller matters. But only a few times,” Hanzo added sternly, seeing the excited expression on McCree’s face. McCree didn’t lose any enthusiasm at that, only nodded and then watched Hanzo take off, his wings easily lifting him off the ground and into the blue sky.

 

* * *

 

McCree did call him a couple of times after that over the next year, neither of which were for serious injuries. Hanzo did have to take McCree to Angela to fix his prosthetic arm one of those times, though, which overjoyed McCree. He had never gotten to see much of Overwatch’s headquarters, as most of the time he was either unconscious from wounds or asleep after being healed. He watched Angela work with the enthusiasm of a kitten, never taking his eyes off of her prodding and adjustments.

“There. Finished. It should work just fine now,” Angela informed McCree, who rolled his shoulder to test it and flashed her a grin. She smiled back and placed her supplies back in their respective places, before heading out of the med center to meet Fareeha. The two twined their hands together and walked off, while Hanzo, who had watched the whole procedure with barely concealed amusement at McCree’s expense, was left with McCree.

“Damn. That girl does some fine work, don’t she? She’s also a cutie, if ya ask me.” Hanzo raised his eyebrow at McCree, who lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Yea, yea, I saw ‘er with that other girl. Don’t you worry. Unlike my missin’ arm, my eyesight works just fine.” Hanzo remembered he had wanted to ask how McCree had lost his arm, and cautiously raised the subject.

McCree sighed, leaning back on the bed he was on and inspecting his metal arm. “I used’ta be part of a group -- more of a gang, if ya ask me -- called Blackwatch.” Both of Hanzo’s eyebrows raised at that. Blackwatch had been organized by Overwatch, but had eventually been infiltrated and overtaken by agents of Talon. He had had no idea McCree had been involved with one -- or both -- parties. “I see you’ve heard of ‘em. Well, the leader, some guy named Reaper, he was a bit of a hardass. But he was fair.” The wistful note in McCree’s voice led Hanzo to believe he was more than “some guy” to McCree, but he didn’t bring it up.

“‘Till one day, about 3 years back, he revealed he’d been workin’ for this group Talon all along. I tried to stop ‘im before he got more men into the base but, well… that man’s guns ain’t fair. He shot my arm clear off. No hesitation, one shot, an’ that was it. I managed ta get away, somehow, and I found a doctor able to fix me a new arm. Nowhere near as good as yer doc, ‘course, but it’s done me well since then. S’no hinderance ta me.” McCree concluded with a wriggle of his metal fingers.

Hanzo leaned back against the wall. This man had survived an attack from Gabriel Reyes, better known as Reaper, and only had an arm blown off. He was either full of luck or talent, this one. Hanzo betted that McCree would claim the latter.

“So… can I ask ya how ya lost those?” McCree gestured to Hanzo’s prosthetic legs, and Hanzo sighed. He’d been surprised when it hadn’t been the first thing McCree had asked about, but he’d known McCree would ask eventually. And now was apparently that time.

“I suppose I could tell you. You told me about your arm, after all.” Hanzo repositioned himself against the wall and crossed his arms, staring up at the white, scarcely-patterned ceiling.

“After I…” Hanzo choked on the words, then regained his voice. “After I killed my brother, I fled our home. I vowed never to return, and so I traveled constantly, never staying in one place too long for fear of being found. I made my way to Europe, and it was then that I deemed it far enough away from my home that I could find someplace to stay. It turned out that the supposed “safehouse” I had chosen was controlled by Talon, and they were looking for another agent to recruit. They had allegedly lost their previous target.” Hanzo glanced pointedly at McCree, who was looking shocked at Hanzo’s story. “They found me in the middle of the night, and when I tried to escape, one of them shot me in the legs. They retrieved me, as well as my bow, after I had passed out. They had clearly deemed the legs a loss, as whomever shot me had hit right below the kneecap on both legs. I was fitted with prosthetics, though they were not nearly as well made as these.”

McCree was clearly about to ask why these were different, so he held up a hand. “I will get there. While I was recuperating, I heard a few agents talking about the location of Overwatch’s headquarters, and how they were planning on destroying the group once and for all. I decided then that I could not let that happen. Whoever Overwatch was, they did not deserve to be taken over by this foul group. A week after they took me in, I was mostly healed. I snuck out, killed any guards in my way, and slowly made my way to where they had said Overwatch was located. I carefully avoided any potential spies that Talon had sent to find me, but my planning was not enough to outsmart Reaper.” McCree sucked in a breath at the mention of him. “He found me one night, as I was planning to start moving again. I may have wounded him, but, as you said, his guns are powerful. And he does not often miss. He hit me in the head, and I died barely minutes afterward.” Hanzo shuddered. He did not like to think of Reaper, not without a few drinks subsequently to help him forget again. “Overwatch agents found me there days later, and deemed me able to join. Angela revived me, then gave me much better prosthetics,” Hanzo tapped his metal legs to emphasize the point. “I have been in their ranks ever since.”

McCree didn’t reply for a few minutes, clearly taking in the information. “So… I s’pose this means I’m technically responsible for yer gettin’ killed. And that it also means Reaper intentionally missed a killin’ shot in my case. Why would he--” McCree stopped himself and put his head in his hands, shucking off his hat so that he could grip fistfuls of hair. Hanzo wasn’t sure whether or not to speak, but it was good that he didn’t, as McCree continued.

“I loved him,” he choked out, and Hanzo realized McCree was crying. “I loved ‘im, and he went an’ killed the man I would come to love.” McCree looked up at Hanzo, tears running down his face and hair messed up. “How fucked up is that?”

Hanzo couldn’t reply. The sight of emotional McCree was too much, and he realized he hated seeing McCree upset.

And then it hit him.

After all the time he’s spent with McCree, after all the jokes and nicknames and near-death situations, after all the friendly banter…

Hanzo had fallen in love with McCree as well.

Any hesitation Hanzo had flew out the window, and he stepped forward, lifted McCree onto his feet, and wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. McCree didn’t move for a second, and Hanzo feared it had been a mistake, but then McCree hugged him back just as tightly. Hanzo’s arms were around McCree’s waist, and McCree’s arms were around Hanzo’s shoulders, and they stayed like that for what could have been minutes or hours, two broken men comforting each other.

Eventually, McCree pulled back, looking at his hands as if he couldn’t believe he had just hugged Hanzo with them. Hanzo cleared his throat awkwardly, and McCree’s gaze snapped up. Hanzo’s eyes met his.

 _Wow, his eyes are beautiful_ , Hanzo thought.

_God, that was gay._

 

* * *

 

Hanzo spent a lot of time thinking after that day, never quite getting used to the feeling of being in love with such an odd man. He was so deep in thought that he nearly missed McCree’s call one day, the light blinking with an urgency that made Hanzo cautious.

When Hanzo landed, he noticed that the Russian city was basically deserted, the snow covering the ground not disturbed by footprints. Hanzo stayed aloft, not letting his feet brush the ground either. He was wary now, bow in his hands and eyes roaming.

Then he heard it.

Hanzo wanted to cover his ears. No, no, _no_ , it couldn’t be. But even as he tried to convince himself, the moment he rounded the corner, he knew it to be true.

Reaper stood in front of McCree. McCree sat in the corner where two buildings met, the snow around him stained red with blood. Hanzo resisted sucking in a breath of air, for fear of Reaper noticing him.

“So… you’re being taken care of by that brat I killed. Huh. I knew I should’ve thrown him in the river when I had the chance. Stupid Overwatch.” The grating sound of Reaper’s voice sent shivers down Hanzo’s spine. He had never wanted to hear it again, never _dreamed_ that he would be put in a situation with him ever again. Yet the next thing he said scared Hanzo more than anything else ever would. “How about I just kill you and save him the trouble of having to watch over you? He’s surely tired of taking care of such a stupid, careless punk.” Reaper raised one of his guns, aiming it at McCree’s exposed head -- at one point his hat had fallen off.

“No!” Hanzo shouted, bow drawn and fired at Reaper before he could think. Reaper glanced to the side and turned into shadow right before the arrow hit him, so that the arrow passed right through the wraith form. It lodged itself in the wall next to his head, and by the time Reaper was solid again, Hanzo was standing in front of McCree, wings spread and arrow aimed again.

Reaper growled. “So _you’re_ back. Keeping your stupid pup safe, huh? Don’t tell me you’ve grown a soft spot for him. We all know what happens to the people you care about.” Reaper held up one of his guns, inspecting it in front of his face. “Poor Genji wasn’t even dead when you fled. Luckily for you, I finished the job.” Reaper aimed the gun toward Hanzo. “And now I have to kill you again. What a pity, to see my work undone and standing in front of me.”

Hanzo was shocked. He hadn’t killed Genji? He was sure he had. Yet here was Reaper, claiming to have killed his brother…

Before Hanzo could shoot another arrow, he felt a tug at one of his wings. He glanced down for a quick second -- he couldn’t take his eyes off of Reaper for too long -- to see McCree clutching his chest, clearly in pain. He seemed to be bleeding from another wound in his leg, and Hanzo’s vision went red at the thought of Reaper toying with McCree, crippling him one limb at a time before finally killing him. Yet McCree was trying to speak to him. Hanzo barely heard the words.

“You… don’t t-think’a me as a… a burden, do ya?” McCree spat a mouthful of blood after finishing, chest heaving, looking up at Hanzo with sad eyes. Hanzo’s eyes widened. He had actually listened to Reaper, had started to think that he was _right._

Reaper still stood in front of the both of them, and Hanzo suspected he was smirking horridly underneath his mask. Hanzo knew that he had to get McCree out of here right away, but the thought of confronting Reaper, of getting his revenge…  Hanzo glanced back at McCree, who had given up on sitting and was laying down in the snow, tingeing even more of it a pink, almost red color. That decided it for him. He couldn't let Reaper hurt McCree any more.

Hanzo gingerly grasped McCree beneath his knees and chest, hauling him up as gently as possible. McCree was slipping in and out of consciousness now, but when he was awake, his gaze never left Hanzo's.

“So you're running away again, Jesse. How pathetic. You never did just give in, like a good little boy.” McCree’s eyes fluttered at that, and he let out a small moan of pain. Hanzo nearly snarled at Reaper.

“Shut up. I’ll be sure to pay you back next time.”

Reaper laughed. “So you have developed a soft spot for the kid. You’d better make sure he doesn’t get killed while you aren’t watching him.” Reaper aimed his gun at Hanzo as a way of pointing. “And don’t think I’ve gotten over the possibility of recruiting you. Talon would _love_ to have you. Besides, don’t you want to thank the girl who caused you to get such wonderful prosthetics?” Hanzo’s blood boiled. He didn’t want to thank her; he wanted to blow _her_ legs off as well, so that she could feel what she had done to him. Reaper must’ve seen the look on his face, because he snickered. “It’s a shame that you can’t pay her back for it. She’s already lost her legs below the knee.”

Hanzo looked down at McCree again, who was now passed out. Hanzo’s hands were already covered in McCree’s blood, and he was still bleeding out, with no pressure on the wounds. Hanzo had to go _now_.

Hanzo glared at Reaper. “Don’t think this is over,” he said, before flapping his wings and leaving the ground. The motion jostled McCree slightly, and Hanzo winced for him. Reaper let out a hoarse laugh.

“Of course this isn’t over. You’d better watch your -- and his -- back.” Reaper watched Hanzo take off, then dissolved into mist and made his way back to wherever Talon’s base was. Hanzo almost wanted to follow him, but he had McCree to take care of.

He got McCree safely back to Overwatch’s base, but refused other medical assistance. “I will heal him myself,” he told Angela, who thankfully didn’t comment, instead leaving the room to him and McCree. Hanzo carefully removed McCree’s shirt -- he wanted to make sure the healing magic was doing its work -- and took a deep breath. “Dragon gods, grant me the strength to heal this man,” he muttered, expanding his wings and placing his hands on McCree’s chest like last time. Blue magic flowed from his hands into McCree’s body, and Hanzo was relieved to see the wound in McCree’s chest start to heal. The magic forced out the bullet, and it dissolved harmlessly. The same happened for the one in McCree’s leg, and Hanzo was able to relax.

About halfway through, McCree apparently gained consciousness, because Hanzo felt another pair of hands resting on his. He looked down in surprise to see McCree staring into his eyes, and Hanzo couldn’t take his gaze away. They stayed like that, McCree’s hands on Hanzo’s and their gazes locked, until Hanzo felt the drain of the magic that warned him of imminent collapse. With a great effort, Hanzo took his hands off of McCree’s chest, and the blue light faded. McCree sat up, and let go of Hanzo’s hands as Hanzo fell onto the bed next to McCree, the effort of healing for so long exhausting him.

McCree’s worry showed in his eyes. “Y’alright there, darlin’?” Hanzo rolled into his side to face McCree.

“I am fine. That was just a bit tiring.” McCree looked at Hanzo like he didn't believe him, but said nothing. He went quiet after that, and it was then that Hanzo realized he hadn't replied to McCree’s question, when he was bleeding out and collapsed behind him in the snow.

_Shit._

“You know, McCree…” McCree’s fingers twitched as a sign that he had heard. “What you said, back there…”

McCree stopped him with a hand. “It was stupid a’ me to think that. Don't worry 'bout it.”

Hanzo shook his head. “Reaper's words are hard to forget. I want you to know that you're not a burden to me. Not at all.”

The hope in McCree's eyes was enough to make him continue. “While we were out there, I may have… realized that my feelings reciprocate yours.” McCree sucked in a breath.

“Darlin’, does that mean that…”

“…Yes. I--” Hanzo cut himself off, turning red, then continued. “I have fallen in love with you, McCree.”

McCree openly gaped at him, clearly in disbelief. His blush easily rivaled Hanzo’s. “I… isn't that, y'know, forbidden?”

Hanzo closed his eyes. “Yes.” At McCree's upset sound, Hanzo sat up and opened them to look at McCree's eyes again. They really were beautiful. “But I do not care.”

“Well, then, sweetheart, I s’pose I should return the favor.” McCree smiled and leaned in closer to Hanzo, enough that he could smell the cigar smoke and deodorant that McCree usually smelled like, as well as the faint smell of dried blood from earlier. “I love ya, Hanzo.”

Hanzo smiled, a slow, lazy smile that meant he was more than happy with the current situation. Then McCree shifted back a bit, and Hanzo remembered he had removed McCree's shirt earlier. Thin, dark hair covered most of his chest, and he had a rather defined figure, despite a bit of chub around his waist. Hanzo then realized he was staring, and made the mistake of looking up, where McCree was smirking. “Like what ya see? Ya know, yer not that bad t’ look at either,” McCree added with a pointed glance at Hanzo's exposed chest and arm.

Hanzo blushed furiously, then all but threw McCree’s shirt at him. McCree just laughed, and Hanzo wondered how he hadn't loved him from the moment they met.

 

* * *

 

The next time that Hanzo saw Reaper, it was decidedly too soon.

The call that McCree sent was small, and so Hanzo figured it to be another one of McCree's attempts to get hurt so that he could talk to Hanzo. There had been a few more of those lately, and while Hanzo hadn't minded, he did worry over McCree getting hurt so often.

However, as he approached the blip on his map of Nepal that was McCree, he became worried. McCree would usually (amazingly) be able to tell when Hanzo would arrive, and would sit high up so that Hanzo could see him. But that wasn't the case this time. McCree was nowhere to be seen, which forced Hanzo to land and find him on foot.

By the time Hanzo found McCree, he was seriously worried. A few of his worries dissipated when he saw McCree collapsed on the ground a few feet away. _Thank god. He's only sleeping._ Hanzo went over to him to check over McCree for wounds, but froze on reflex as he heard a voice to his right.

“One step closer and you get a bullet in your skull.”

 _Shit shit_ shit.

Reaper emerged from the shadows, and once again, Hanzo had an arrow strung and aimed before he could blink. Reaper laughed, a grating sound that rang in Hanzo's ears. “You really think you can hit me? Pathetic. You're almost as bad as your boyfriend back there. He only lasted a few minute, even plead with me. As if that would sway me.” Hanzo looked back at McCree, then, with urgency, looked at the device showing how long McCree had to live.

Two minutes.

Time seemed to slow. How had two years gone by so fast? How had he not noticed that McCree was getting closer and closer to having to die?

How had he been so stupid?

Reaper watched the emotions flit across Hanzo’s face, his mask covering whatever his current expression was. Hanzo abandoned facing Reaper to turn and run to McCree's side, kneeling to take in his appearance. The only difference was the bullet wound that blossomed dark red against McCree's brown hair, and the hat that lay on the ground.

“No,” Hanzo croaked out. “No, no, _no,_ McCree, please, you can't do this, you can't lose to him, please, Jesse, _please,_ stay awake for me, please…” Hanzo's words tumbled off, and he touched McCree’s shoulder. The metal of his prosthetic felt as cold as ever, but it seemed to feel even colder as McCree’s life slipped away. There was no way McCree could speak, but Hanzo heard his voice in his ear, his whispered, “I'm sorry, darlin’,” the wry smile that would accompany it clear in Hanzo's mind.

Reaper took a step, and Hanzo whirled around, arrow aimed at Reaper's head. “He loved you!” Hanzo yelled. “He loved you, and you threw it away! You do not deserve to lay eyes on him!” Hanzo felt raw, emotion burning through him and leaving him ablaze.

“Oh, did he? How upsetting. And here I thought he understood how I felt about him. He knew he was just a toy. Something to be used. And yet he said he loved me?” Reaper laughed again. “That justifies me killing him even more. Not that I needed justification for it.”

“Then why did you hesitate when you revealed you were working for Talon?” Hanzo demanded. Reaper reeled back, and Hanzo continued. “Why didn't you kill him when he was missing an arm and an easy target? Let me guess. You didn't realize you loved him as well.”

Reaper growled. “You know _nothing_ about me.” Reaper aimed both of his guns at Hanzo's head, and Hanzo smirked.

“Go ahead. Kill me. I'll just respawn. There is _nothing_ you can do to me.”

Reaper made an amused sound. “Oh, isn't there?” Reaper aimed in a different direction, and Hanzo heard the bullet hit flesh. Reaper had just shot McCree’s body.

Hanzo made the mistake of gasping, and Reaper probably smiled evilly under the mask. Another shot rang out, hitting McCree in the leg this time. Hanzo started crying as another shot hit, tears dripping onto the floor even as he lowered his bow. Reaper took this as a sign he was giving up.

“Now, that's better.” Reaper shot once more for good measure, then dropped his arms. Hanzo didn't look back at McCree, knowing he'd just show more weakness if he did. Instead, he focused on controlling his emotions, wiping tear tracks off his face and working his face into a glare. Reaper sighed. “So you're going to resist, too. How pathetic.”

Hanzo raised his bow again, carefully aiming. “That I am.” He took a deep breath and whispered, _This is for you, Jesse._

“Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!” Blue light exploded from Hanzo's arrow, forming into two twin dragons that barreled straight towards Reaper. There was no way he could avoid it, and it hit him, flinging him back until he hit a wall. Hanzo wanted to collapse from the effort, but stretched his wings and took off, leaving McCree and Reaper down below.

 

* * *

 

When he arrived back at headquarters, he fell into a slump. McCree was dead. _Dead._ Hanzo should've known it was a mistake to fall in love with a man with only a 2 year lifespan, should've known it would've ended badly whether they were found out or McCree was killed. Hanzo stopped eating, pushing away Angela when she asked about him. He slept little, and what sleep he did have was nightmarish and light. He practiced almost non-stop when he was awake, not trusting his mind to allow him to function without a distraction. Talon would've probably retrieved McCree by now, and Hanzo wanted to punch himself for not taking McCree back to Overwatch. They could've saved him. They could've brought him back and made it so that he could be with Hanzo again. Hanzo had simply assumed that Overwatch wouldn't want him.

A week after his encounter with Reaper, Hanzo was at an all-time low. Everyone he cared about had been killed by Reaper, and he couldn't save either of them. Genji, now McCree… there was no way he could develop attachment to anyone else, for fear of losing them. Hanzo silently resolved to stay away from other people unless absolutely necessary.

Now was that time, though. He had hurt himself while training, and while he may be grieving, he wasn’t stupid. He headed to the medical center grudgingly, not exactly wanting to face Angela’s questions and pitying face.

What he got, though, caught him completely off guard.

Jesse McCree sat on one of the medical beds, Angela carefully checking over him. Hanzo froze the minute he stepped in the door, heart leaping into his mouth and body stunned motionless. Then Jesse _fucking_ McCree turned and saw him, and _Jesse goddamn McCree_ smiled, and Hanzo was miraculously unfrozen. He immediately ran forward and threw himself at McCree, Angela thankfully stepping back just in time. McCree wrapped his arms around Hanzo as soon as he was close enough, and Hanzo breathed in cigar smoke and his stupid cologne and the smell of _him_ and it was wonderful.

“S’nice to see you too, darlin’,” McCree whispered in his ear with a chuckle, and Hanzo turned multiple shades of red as he drew back and took in McCree’s appearance. McCree seemed to be in one piece, and Hanzo was about to ask _how_ when McCree unfolded his wings.

They were a beautiful auburn color on the edges that faded into the red of a setting sun, decorated in feathers and graceful. They were pure angel wings, fitting for an angel such as McCree. The edges of the feathers looked like they had been dipped in gold, giving them a shadowed, yet shimmery look. Hanzo appraised them admiringly.

“Do ya like ‘em? I thought of yers when I was making ‘em, but I didn’t want ya to think I was copyin’ ya. So I went with this.” McCree twisted his head around to look at one of them. “I get what’cha mean by wantin’ to look at them a lot. They’re gorgeous.”

Hanzo smiled. “Yes they are,” he agreed. McCree’s face lit up.

“So… I hope ya didn’t miss me too much while I wasn’t here.” McCree rubbed his neck sheepishly.

Angela, still in the room, made a noise that sounded awfully like a snort. “Miss you? No, he only didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, trained all day and overexerted himself…” She trailed off at Hanzo’s glare, but McCree had clearly gotten the point.

“Damn, darlin’, didn’t know you were gonna miss me _that_ much,” McCree said with a raised eyebrow, and Hanzo looked down. McCree, not having any of that, lifted his metal hand and placed it under Hanzo’s chin, tilting his head up. “We’re gonna have to get you patched up, now won’t we? But before that…” McCree motioned for Angela to turn around, which made her huff and instead walk out.

“I’ll heal you both once you two finish!” she called back, and McCree chuckled before using his free hand to grab Hanzo by the waist. Before Hanzo could do anything, he felt McCree’s chapped lips against his own, and immediately lost any imminent train of thought. His hands moved to McCree’s neck, and McCree’s cool metal hand slid to cup his face. They kissed for what seemed like an eternity, just a simple brush of the lips that conveyed everything unable to be spoken.

McCree was the first to pull back, just enough to allow a few inches between them. “I'm never leavin’ ya again, darlin’,” McCree whispered.

Hanzo smiled as he whispered back, “You'd better not, Jesse.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to the mchanzo discord for the prompt!  
> psst. guess who shot Hanzo's legs.  
> also try to guess the 6 people missing from overwatch right now. it's not hard. let me know ur guess in the comments ;)


End file.
